“He doesn’t appear on it,” she says with a heavy sigh. “He’s literally nowhere to be seen. He must know where all the cameras are. He’s clever.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“I entered Fallen Angels so I could move to a new place—somewhere more secure. I needed a bigger deposit for the new apartment, and I couldn’t afford it. So, Vivienne suggested I put myself up for auction to raise the money. So, I did.”
I lower my chin. “And?”
She shrugs again. “And the guy never turned up.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
She takes a deep breath and explains. “After the bids have closed and the winners have been announced, each ‘couple’ meets in one of the suites on the eighteenth floor. I went to freshen up then I took the elevator up and let myself into the room. The money was right there on the table but the guy who bid for me never showed.”
Her expression isn’t one of relief though—it’s one of fear.
“Maybe he was just doing a nice thing,” I suggest.
She bites back a knowing smile and shakes her head. “He was a regular guest. Used to come in several times a week. He was in the club that night for the bidding—I saw him. But then it was like he just vanished. He didn’t come to the suite and he hasn’t back to the club since.”
I press a palm to my chest without thinking. “Do you have any idea what happened to him?”
She shakes her head again. “No. I checked the guest database and he’d just… disappeared. It was the weirdest thing. There’s a part of me wonders if I imagined the whole thing.”
A cold shiver curls around my spine, and for some reason I recall what Hallie said about there possibly being bodies under the parking lot. I really hope her bidder isn’t one of them.
“Would you do it again?” I ask her.
Another tight sigh lifts her shoulders. “I may have to.”
My head tilts in a question.
“I did move into a more secure apartment, but it’s not secure enough apparently. He still gets into the building—past the security guards, the cameras. He’s probably harmless—he’s never once made a move toward me—but I have a weird thing about being watched. It brings me out in a rash.”
“Um, hello Stockholm Syndrome,” I say, one brow arched. “Stalking isn’t harmless.”
She smirks. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, I didn’t bring this up to talk about me, Fi.” She bites down on her bottom lip before continuing. “You want a way out of here and paying off your uncle’s debt might be the only way. Fallen Angels could help you get the money. But there’s no guarantee you’ll make the kind of cash you need—you’d be gambling with your body.”
I nod slowly, as understanding dawns on me. My uncle’s debt means I have to be here, in this club, almost every night of the week. By day it takes everything in me to summon the energy to care for my dad. I can’t see another way I’ll be able to make the amount of money I need. And there’s no way on earth Ican stay here doing this job for a whole year, or until Il Diavolo decides he’s seen enough of me.
My throat is beginning to ache from the dryness. This conversation is frightening but is also, in a weirdly reassuring way, giving me hope.
“Okay, so let’s say I do it. What happens after the bidding?”
“At midnight exactly, Il Diavolo locks the bidding portal and he and his team assess the bids, then they announce the Fallen Angels. It’s kind of a celebration. The people selected go to greet their winning bidder and make arrangements to fulfil their end of the bargain. The bidder will usually disclose the amount they bid, although they don’t have to right away. Money changes hands within twenty-four hours typically.”
“And when is it happening? The next auction, I mean?”
“It’s in four days.”
My pulse throbs.Four days. If I were to take part and someone bid on me, regardless of what I’d need to do for it, I could havesomecash in my hands within five. My heart flutters optimistically, until another thought occurs to me.
“What if no one picks you?”
“Then you go back to work like nothing happened. But Il Diavolo is good. He works hard behind the scenes to avoid people not being selected or bidders leaving empty-handed.”
“Right,” I say, my brain working overtime to digest all the information. “Can anyone put themselves up for auction?”
“Yes—within reason. Staff, members, friends of members. Not your average Joe Public though. Only people who are associated with Velvet in some way.”
